Fine Feathers make Fine Birds
by Wintereyeshine
Summary: Wing!fic. A bunch of random One-shots about the lives of Team Free Will dealing with two new extra limbs.
1. Well shit, Cas!

_Fine Feathers make Fine Birds...Or so they say_

Chapter 1 _...Well shit, Cas!_

Disclaimer: Not mine, Supernatural belongs to Eric Kirpke, though that's probably for the best because I honestly would just have Gabriel, Balthazar and Bobby come back and they would all live happily ever after... And that's not how Supernatural rolls.

Pairings: None really, but squint and you might be able to spot one.

Rating: T obviously, I mean, c'mon Dean's in this.

Because who doesn't love Cas's wings. The time when these are set will change (a LOT).

This has been done before in this fandom I know, I've read most of them :D

The first chapter isn't really a One-shot thing, more of a scene setter for the rest. After this, they'll just be random one-shots about Team Free Will dealing with two suddenly very solid wings :)

–

…_Well shit, Cas!_

–

To Dean, the idea that Cas had wings was just one of those funny, small details that was lost in the clutter that was whatever the next impending disaster swinging their way happened to be.

He'd seen them in that barn the days following when the angel of The Lord had raised his ass from "Perdition". Well, shadows of them anyway.

Fucking terrified the life out of him too but lets not inflate the angel's pride too much my mentioning that to his face. Or out loud at all for that matter.

Still, the dark, mesmerising shapes that had appeared beneath that lightening strike had long since been pushed from his mind, what with just escaping hell and Lucifer deciding this was a fine century to take a walk. It can be argued that his mind had been rather preoccupied by more pressing thoughts.

Since then, there have been moments, usually after the angel had either just zapped in (or out) that the notion crept to the forefront of his mind. And if there wasn't something immediately trying to eat him or possess him or other dramas he needed to sort out, then _occasionally_, he would entertain the image of the Angel of Thursday with his wings. It never lasted more than a few moments, being brushed off as one of those things that didn't really exist. Because Castiel had said that his true form would melt his eyes out of his head, not the angel's exact words granted, but the point still stands. So Dean had never believed that he would ever _see_ them as actual wings, besides those extremely rare, hair-raising moments when the shadows would appear for half a second under intense flashes of light.

And to Dean, that was just something else he had been told about angels in his youth that was a lie. The main one being of course that angel's were something other than Dicks. But, Dean was a Winchester, him ever expecting anything else was almost laughable. He had accepted this wing thing as a shadow deal only and was totally fine with that.

So... having a _massive,_ solid, freakin' feathered wall, smash him in the jaw, was a bit of a shock and very, very, oh so _very_ painful.

The shock apparently wasn't limited to Dean.

The hunt had been normal enough.

Witch, (because they're always fun), causing some issues not too far from Albuquerque, New Mexico. Nothing major. No deaths, no major injuries, just a few spells drawing enough attention that Team Free Will had decided to check on it as they passed through on their way to check in with Bobby.

Hell, Castiel wasn't even really supposed to be there. He certainly wasn't needed. But, the Winchesters had grown fond of their (not Dean's!) angel, and they had used the weak excuse that the angel needed to have more time to develop his "people skills", to entice him along. Not that the angel minded, the Winchesters were almost always a welcome relief compared to whatever else he usually had to do at the time. This was no exception.

They'd traced the witch to an abandoned building that looked as if it might once have been a bar, it was hard to tell with the gutted interior and cobweb covered signs. Darkness had fallen by then and they (mainly Sam, because to Dean all witches are a nightmare) hadn't even decided whether or not they were even going to kill the witch or just threaten it.

Again, it should be noted that the this is the Winchesters. Expecting a good ending is just a waste of good will power. And, if nothing else, monumentally stupid.

The Witch was at least three states away by the time they even arrived at the derelict building, but that doesn't mean it was wholly empty of witchcraft either.

This invariably leads back to Dean's current predicament. Staring through the dim light of the musty old building from his new place on the floor, bruised and all, gaping at the angel.

"_...Well shit, Cas!"_

The angel was standing, just. Half bent over with the sudden, shocking extra weight and was panting endlessly, bright blue eyes wide open in complete and unbridled astonishment.

The fact that so much emotion was glaringly obvious on the usually stoic supernatural being usually would have drawn the Winchester's attention, but the things attached to that being's back dwarfed that unusual occurrence with no competition.

For one, they were_ freakin' enormous!_

Splayed unevenly out to the sides from where they had exploded from his shoulder blades, the tips of the huge flight feathers were being forced to curl and bend to fit the suddenly very cage-like space. Not to mention the fact they were _Black_.

Okay, the shadows had been black. But that's generally the colour of shadows.

Another lie proven false, though he had to admit, this was one of the most _bad-ass_ things he had ever seen. And now that he was seeing it for himself, these black wings look far more awesome than any of those stupidly bright white ones that those prissy paintings show. But maybe he was a little bias, or just better informed.

The second of silence through which all of these thoughts had passed through Dean's head seemed to occurr in painfully slow motion, and now, time seemed to snap violently back into real time.

The angel took a staggering step forward, breathing ragged and heavy. His wings flaring a little at the change in balance. The sudden, very solid, shift in the wings' weight had Castiel stumble.

Sam, momentarily forgotten by the elder Winchester, had escaped the immediate explosion of the two ebony limbs and stayed on his feet. Snapping from his trance, the younger brother rushed forwards to steady the angel.

Dean wobbled to his feet, moving forwards once there to aid his brother.

Before he could even get close, Castiel startled all of them, himself included. As Sam reached for his shoulder, a flash of panic bloomed across Castiel's face and he instinctively jerked backwards. His wings rushed forwards with a gust that would put a small hurricane to shame and came up as a defensive, sweeping wall.

The movement caught Sam across the chest, giving him a free ride across the room on an altogether different form of "Angel Airways". Even Dean, who was much further away didn't have enough time to completely duck the sweeping movement, though he _did_ manage to keep to his feet.

"Ow! Damnit Cas!" Dean growled the same moment that Sam gave a resounding groan from the floor thirty metres or so away. "What the Hell!"

The angel turned, a rare display of desperation on his face as he moved, "Dean! I-"

_Whack_

Dean coughed from the floor. _Well, damn. _The angel's wings had turned with him. Bruise number three from angel wings... Check.

"Castiel! Stop!" The angel froze at Sam's voice, halting mid-turn from turning to look at the younger Winchester. "Just... Easy" he was waving his hands in a placating manner and approaching the winged creature like one would a wild animal that could quite easily tear your head off.

Castiel's eyes would have hardened at the patronising notion if his panic wasn't ricocheting through him like bullets from the brothers' hand guns. Hell, his wings were practically vibrating with the angel equivalent of a spiking adrenaline rush because _this just shouldn't be happening!_

Dean had approached by now, reaching Sam who was suddenly much closer than before.

Castiel took a step away, wings and balance flailing unevenly and both brothers jumped back a pace.

"Cas. Chill out dude." Dean's words, although rough and slightly panicked, were a softening comfort to the angel's fraying nerves, and his wings seemed to settle minutely at the sound. "Can you... I don't know, just... Sit down or something?"

Sam nodded fiercely, eager to avoid another wing smash to the ribs because _damn_ that hurts. Their friend was obviously freaking out as badly as they were, and by the rapid, jerky movements of the new limbs, Sam realised that this had never happened to him before. "That witch is long gone, just...calm down yeah?"

Hesitantly, Castiel dropped down to one knee, wings naturally rising and spreading to give balance, though the foreign new weight of them at all off-set this somewhat. It was like an animal learning how to walk again after loosing a limb, the sudden loss, or gain in this case, of weight was playing havoc with his balance. Painfully slowly, he moved to sit cross-legged on the, now that he was looking, absolutely filthy, old floor. The weight was tugging sharply at his shoulders and he leant forwards, the feeling that followed the movement was both gratefully natural and terrifyingly foreign.

The two brothers hedged closer, the wings tensing as they approached, each far bigger than even gigantor Sam. The dim light reflected off of the feathers, and the naturally oily black, shimmering colours gained a soft orange highlight, and it was a sharp reminder to both Winchesters just what the hell their third team member actually _was_.

A fucking angel of The Lord, black wings and all.

"I find myself sharing your disdain for witches Dean" Castiel managed tightly, strain of the situation clear in his gravelly voice.

Despite himself, Dean burst out laughing, because _Damn this wasn't funny!_ "Bitches, the lot of them." Edging closer, the elder hunter dropped down in front of the angel. The heavy breaths coming from the angel were far calmer than the ragged gasps from earlier, and even the new wings seemed more settled, leaving the brothers a little less wary.

Castiel's gaze held Dean's for a few moments, taking solace in the steady, all too familiar green that he found there and allowed himself a few more calming breaths. The staring was, rather thankfully from Sam's point of view, broken quickly as Dean couldn't restrain himself from another look at the wings now filling a large portion of the room.

Dean traced the joints of the left wing with his eyes, taking in every small ridge and groove each feather and the way the dull orange light seemed to set the edges of the wings on fire. The black of the wings wasn't wholesome, it shimmered like a pool of oil resting on water, reaching occasional shades of green and stunning blues that moved with every breath that Castiel took.

Castiel himself shifted a little under the entranced gaze of the elder Winchester, Sam's expression mirrored his brothers and there was nothing he could do to avoid it without the risk of hurting one of them. In his true form, wings were a part of him, there generally wasn't any staring in Heaven because _everyone _has wings in heaven. That would be like humans staring at each others arms. And now, suddenly manifested against his will and a tremendous new strain on Jimmy, the staring was embarrassing and, by angel standards at least, a little rude. Humans though, he reasoned, have never seen them before, of course they would stare.

That didn't make it any more or less bearable.

Thankfully, something else eventually captured Sam's attention, it's not like Castiel's wings were all that special anyway, what with the small frays from his venture into hell and millions of years of being a warrior. The angel was grateful for the change.

Dean's enthrallment wasn't so easily moved, "Damn, Cas, that's _awesome._" His hand moved of it's own accord, the sudden desire to know what the feathers felt like echoing through him like a demand. The wings twitched away from the curious fingers, and as Dean turned to look back to the angel's face, Sam began waving a piece of paper under their noses.

"Dude, the witch left us a message about this curse...trap..._thing_"

Holding it so the other two could read it, Sam crouched down beside them.

_Hello Boys_

_I guess you could say your reputation proceeds you. _

_And, I have to say, you're not someone I want on my ass. So, here's the thing, that curse of yours will wear off in a week or three. Here's the catch though, you come after me again, I'll summon every demon I get my hands on and send them your way._

_Lets see you boys handle those when your wing man's got...well, you don't need me to finish this pun do you?_

_Seriously though, I don't want any trouble with you guys, leave me alone and your angel will be back to normal in no time._

_See ya around Boys_

Re-reading the small note twice, Dean groaned miserably, managing to summon up every ounce of contempt that all three were spewing in only two words.

"_Fucking Witches!"_

–

AN – I'm open to prompts guys for One-shots ;P although I already have a few


	2. Mood wings pack a Punch

_Fine Feathers make Fine Birds...Or so they say_

Chapter 2 _Mood wings pack a punch..._

Disclaimer: Not mine, Supernatural belongs to Eric Kirpke.

Pairings: None really, but squint and you might be able to spot one.

Rating: T obviously, I mean, c'mon Dean's in this.

Hooray, down to the wing!One-shots now that we have the little prequel bit done.

–

_Mood wings pack a punch_

–

One of the first things the Winchester brothers had learned about Castiel's wings was that they were a much better window into his emotions than his face was. Except perhaps for those far-too-blue eyes of his. And now that the angel was getting used to having them manifested on this plane, he had far better control of both them and his balance.

Sam, being the nerdy gigantor that he his, had been the first to ask why it was that the angel had struggled with them. Leading to a long, but not overly satisfying answer that his wings were a part of his Grace, he _was_ able to manifest his wings physically like this, but the witch had _forced_ them too. And it was, lightly put, screwing around with how his Grace was flowing.

Not for the first time, Dean Winchester cursed that particular witch in his head.

But, the wings had their perks.

Besides looking just down right awesome.

The first clue they had received about how sensitive the new limbs were to his emotions had been when they had first flared up at Dean. The elder Winchester had been staring at them again as they _finally_ arrived to a motel room not long after the initial curse.

The small flash of discomfort and nervousness showing in Castiel's eyes had gone unnoticed by both of the brothers, and after a few moments longer, Dean had shifted a little closer with a clear intention on his face.

Castiel's expression didn't change, though he did lean away a little. Touching an angel's wings without permission was not just rude, it was down right inconsiderate by angel standards.

The ebony wings however, did not remain unmoved.

The slightly irritated and mostly uncomfortable feelings shooting through him had them flare upwards from their folded position. Reminding the Winchesters of a swan that was more than a little pissed off, albeit a black swan. The feathers had tilted forwards towards them with an unmissable air of defence, and Dean in particular had jumped backwards at the sudden shift from them being folded carefully by his shoulder's to suddenly being every-fucking-where.

For his part, Castiel didn't really notice he had done anything at all. He'd felt his wings shift, but that was nothing new, they did it when in heaven (even if they weren't manifested on this plane there), so hadn't paid it any head. So seeing Sam and Dean scramble backwards until they came up against the motel room wall was a little perplexing.

At least they weren't trying to touch them any more. Even if the staring was suddenly far worse.

Sam was the first Winchester to begin to relax again, though his voice _may_ have been an octave higher. "O-okay...that's not... intimidating at all."

Castiel gave his trade mark curious head tilt of '_I will never understand you humans, now what are you talking about?'_

His confusion at their behaviour had trumped the minor irritation of their staring and the wings folded themselves back against his back, if a little tensely.

"Damn Cas!" Dean managed to growl, though there was no menace in it, just slight agitation that he had freaked out the way he had. "Just tell us if you catch us doing.." the elder Winchester flapped his hand in a universal gesture that summed up everything in that direction, "...whatever the hell that was you didn't like."

The angel looked more confused.

They did stop trying to touch his wings though.

Or so the angel thought.

Later on, it became even more apparent that the wings were like neon signs for the angels thoughts. And this was never more obvious then when they took a break from researching possible solutions for this curse and turned on the T.V.

They quickly learned not to sit too close to the angel. The wings would twitch with curiosity and confusion at whatever happened to be on, the two humans were still wary from the bruises they had already received from the appendages and were taking few chances. _'Giant damn Mood Rings, that's what they are' _Dean had grumbled quietly as one twitch had nearly knocked his beer off of the small rickety table.

At least Castiel actually seemed to realise how much his wings moved under subconscious thoughts.

After that, it hadn't taken Sam and Dean long to realise that it was the staring that was putting the angel on edge, and the angel himself had finally snapped out a line about angel etiquette. The wings had flared a little more purposefully then, and if that hadn't convinced them then nothing would.

And then Dean did something stupid.

Sam had been scouring through what few lore books they had stashed in the Impala until the words were all mashing together and he found himself having to read several pages twice just to take in the information. Finally giving up, he'd gone to sleep.

It was somewhat surprising that Castiel was even still here. But, if a curse could manifest an angel's most well protected piece of Grace against their will... Well, Dean figured that he would stick around if he was an angel too.

So, Dean had left the angel at the table, scouring through his lore book pile with such an intense concentration that his wings were hitched up and tense. All Dean had to do was walk past from his seat to his bed. The angel wasn't really paying attention, a small brush on the way past wouldn't do any harm surely? And his curiosity was smothering his Hunter's deafening instinctual warnings that _this is the worst idea you've ever had in your miserable life you Son-of-a-bitch!_

"Night, Cas" he'd supplied tiredly, barely getting a grunt of acknowledgement from the angel. Hell, he might as well of said "I'm planning on scraping the Impala tomorrow" or something else just as impossibly ludicrous and the angel wouldn't have bat an eyelash at it.

Plan in mind, he stood. Walking past the angel's new wings, he purposely allowed his hand to brush gently across the side of two of Castiel's Primaries.

_Big Fucking mistake_

Unfortunately for Dean, they had not been sitting too far from one of the motel room walls, so when the massive black appendage shot out like a solid coiled spring, it crushed him between the solid feathery mass and the wall.

Castiel's sudden gasp at having reality slam it's way through his thoughts on the lore he was currently reading, sharply turned into a grunt of pain at the impact. Mixing with Sam's sudden sleep filled shout of surprise as the younger man reached for his knife and leapt out of the bed at the same moment, tripping over his duffel bag and face-planting the floor. Miraculously managing not to stab himself in the process.

The angel's instinctual reaction at the foreign touch was a natural defence, and this was _exactly_ why he hadn't wanted them touching his wings without permission. Retracting his wing and saw his human coughing his lungs out.

The wing had hit Dean right in the Solar Plexus, thoroughly winding him. Not to mention how many bruises there would be on his skin tomorrow. "...D-Damn! Cas!" his voice _may_ have been a little hysterical as bits of the plaster from the damaged wall rained down around him.

Peeling himself off of the floor, Sam immediately connected the dots. "What the hell Dean!" Sam was far too tired to deal with this.

"Me!" Dean stuttered in disbelief, glancing between the glare of his taller brother and quietly exasperated stare of the angel.

Castiel took pity of the elder Winchester, "I'm sorry Dean, you startled me... my wings are...sensitive"

Dean's first impulse was to growl, but this was _undeniably_ his own fault, so he sighed instead, "Okay Alright! I Get it, no touching."

_Because DAMN that hurt._


	3. Feathers, feathers everywhere

_Fine Feathers make Fine Birds...Or so they say_

Chapter 3 _Feathers...feathers, feathers everywhere_

Disclaimer: Not mine, Supernatural belongs to Eric Kirpke.

Pairings: None really, but squint and you might be able to spot one.

Rating: T obviously, I mean, c'mon Dean's in this.

–

_Feathers...feathers, feathers everywhere_

–

It was, to Castiel's increasing annoyance, a huge inconvenience suddenly having his wings manifested against his will.

Ignoring the stand alone issue that; whatever that witch had done, had forced his Grace to manifest itself in a way that was certainly _not_ how he would have done it. Ignoring _that_. There were other issues as well.

Teleporting, or 'Zapping' as Dean had taken to calling it, was aided by his wings. It was flight after all. And now, his Grace was being redirected through his wings in a way unfamiliar too him. Flying was not something he wanted to attempt until he could be absolutely certain that it wouldn't damage his Grace, or his wings. Which are essentially the same thing anyway.

That meant that he was travelling with the Winchesters permanently until either, they found a solution to the curse, or it wore off. And while that was far from a bad thing, they _had _being trying his patience and now the only way to get a few moments to himself, was to physically _walk_ somewhere.

Not a thing you can do during the day with a surprisingly large black wingspan.

Not unless you want to become a walking spectacle, and even Castiel, who's "people skills" are somewhat lacking, knew that moving around in daylight was just asking for trouble.

And they have enough of that finding them all by itself thank-you-very-much.

This issue of Castiel being effectively grounded, lead to the next issue Sam and Dean were now facing.

The first time it happened, Sam had laughed so hard he had to leave the room for fear of sudden death.

It had been late morning when Dean had grumbled his way out of his bed, growled his way to the crappy motels' shower, and then re-emerged, still growling, reaching for his jacket.

Dean's morning was already somewhat sour from his late night of research, because this time Castiel was having no slacking from Dean (much to Sam's amusement). And then the fact that Sam had used over half of the hot water was not helping to sweeten his mood.

So, when sliding his jacket over his shoulders, the sharp itching pain that came with it was most unwelcome.

Sam had just arrived back from getting coffee when Dean slithered rapidly back out of his jacket, a minor grunt of displeasure falling from his mouth before the man began flailing desperately to scratch the itch that appeared on that _one_ spot on his back that _no_ human could ever seem to reach.

Castiel, who had been re-reading one of the Latin lore books he had finished only a few hours ago, glanced with an air of confusion and a curious head tilt at Sam as if to say, "_Sam? Why is your brother doing that Sam? I don't understand, is this normal?"_

Dean's straining arms reaching both over one shoulder and down and under the other to reach the offending itch became increasingly fervent. But he would be damned before he asked anyone to scratch it for him, so he did the only other logical thing; throw himself backwards on to the customarily too-hard motel bed.

Wriggling like a dying worm for a second or two, the elder Winchester sighed in blessed relief...before he remembered the rooms other occupants.

Sam's internal struggle against the laugh in his throat was firmly beaten by the softy hesitant, resigned sigh of a question from his side.

"Why, Dean?"

The younger Winchester barely managed to get the coffee on the table before he started laughing, Dean growled and leapt to his feet, and Sam, sensing the man's ire, laughed his way out of the door.

"_Bitch!"_

Sam's audible laughter was getting quieter the further away he got, but they still heard the choking chortle at Dean's insult before the ridiculous outburst got _even louder_.

"Smug Bastard" Dean all but snarled.

The hunter's anger died a little at the amused twitch of Castiel's wings, but the confusion in his blue eyed stare had his face flush in embarrassment, "Dude that was itchy as hell" he did _not_ whine as an excuse.

Castiel tilted his head, as if weighing the idea that maybe Dean was using an insult in subtext and he just couldn't find it. Warily, the angel turned back to his book, deciding to withhold judgement until later.

Dean huffed, crossing his arms before grabbing his jacket. Shaking it roughly, he was determined to find the little fucker responsible for that unbearable itch.

Two shakes later and a small black fluffy thing drifted towards the floor.

It was unmistakably one of Castiel's feathers.

One of Cas's fucking feathers!

Reaching down, he grabbed the fluffy thing off of the floor. It was definitely not any of the angel's flight feathers, just two or three inches of downy fluffiness that made up the under coat of his wings. It was soft in his hand, like fine silk, but almost ethereal at the same time, giving off a strange warmth that Dean was sure must be a special angel feather trait.

Still, he was a bit too angry to take in much about the dainty thing as he slammed it down on the table in front of the angel who had been tactically ignoring the young Hunter.

The angel glanced up at the unimpressed green staring at him, and then at the small black thing being crushed into the table top.

Cas turned his head slightly to glance at the tip of his wing, before looking back at Dean with an expression that could only be summed up as a sarcastic _'Congratulations Dean, yes, that is mine, well done.'_

_'Sassy_ bastard' Dean growled to himself, although he _did _keep the little feather_._

After this, they started appearing more often.

Dean soon had his revenge for the jacket incident at Sam, who quickly afterwards stood on a similar feather with nothing to shield his feet from the amazingly sharp feather's shaft. Seeing his huge, baby Moose of a brother, hopping around the room swearing every profanity he knew was more than enough to improve Dean's mood. And if he rubbed it in a bit... well, tough.

At least until he did the same thing less than an hour later.

Needless to say that solid footwear was becoming a 24/7 must.

They had been heading to Bobby's, his greater collection of lore books having more chance of a solution to this curse than the few books they carried with them. But, true to Winchester form, a ghost haunting had come up in Kalamazoo, Michigan and so they were in for several days travelling to take care of that first.

This meant dropping into motels when they could, and although Castiel could wander further afield during the night, he was still beginning to get a case of cabin fever. His wings were firmly under his control, they were even becoming more manageable in hiding his emotions, but even angel wings moult a little.

His pacing at night was letting one or two of the tiny down feathers drift free, the much larger flight feathers did not shed nearly as often as their smaller companions, maybe once every decade or two, and none of them had dropped yet.

This led to much complaining and tossing and turning at night for the brothers if an errant feather had managed to sneak it's way under a duvet. Only the Lord knows how they got under there, but the little fuckers did.

The little fuckers got everywhere.

Not even the impala was safe.

But, soon enough, all growling about the small nuisances stopped quite abruptly when Dean made the poorly thought out comment of "Damnit man! I'm gonna pluck those damn things off if they keep putting little holes in my Baby's seats!"

The sudden, icy stare that had pierced it's way through the darkness of the car-park to meet Deans eyes had made his mouth snap shut with an audible click. The ebony wings were reflecting moonlight and the brazen orange of a nearby street light and the wings looked suddenly like they were burning with furious holy fire. Especially when they flared upwards, and the Winchesters weren't completely sure whether or not the angel was doing it on purpose.

"You will _**not **"__pluck_" my wings, Dean" That solid tone of voice that screamed power, coupled with those suddenly menacing wings and eyes, and _holy-shit are they glowing?!_ Had Sam scrambling forwards like the giant peace-keeper he was.

"Cas! He's... It was just a joke! He didn't mean it like that" The moose soothed, before shooting his own most menacing bitch-face at his older brother "A _stupid_ joke" he had that _You better suck up to him now or I will help him smite you, you arrogant ass! _Look in his eyes, and for once Dean was all up for apologising because right now it looked as if Cas may actually smite him.

Dean manned up and took half a step forwards, cursing the way his pride was shrivelling away under that intensely dangerous blue gaze. "Shit Cas, Sam's right, I didn't mean it. Sorry man, I would never do something like that." He had his hands up and everything, and God if he didn't feel like a suck up, but pride be damned! He couldn't have his angel thinking that he might actually try and follow through on that 'joke'.

The angel tilted his head, before the wings quickly refolded them by his shoulders and the usual curious, calm blue replaced that warily dangerous ice in his eyes. "Oh... good." He agreed amicably enough, shrugging off the incident as one of those little things humans did that he would never get, completely unaware of the way the two brothers were trying not to shake with relief.

No, he would never understand humans.

AN - Have you guys ever accidentally stood on one of those pointy ends of a feather without shoes on? Because _Oh My God!_


	4. Convenience store? yeah right

_Fine Feathers make Fine Birds...Or so they say_

Chapter 4: Convenience store, yeah right

Disclaimer: Not mine, Supernatural belongs to Eric Kirpke.

Pairings: None really, but squint and you might be able to spot one.

Rating: T obviously, I mean, c'mon Dean's in this.

Oh my gosh guys, thank you so much for all the lovely reviews I have received for this story so far. I love you all and it really cheers me up every time I read them.

_Convenience store? yeah right..._

Of the many terms that have been used to sum up Team Free Will. Elegant, wasn't one of them.

None of them even came close.

Clumsy, dangerous, insane, infelicitous, ridiculous, hell the list is too long to even be written down. But elegant was certainly not among any of those words. And for a very good reason.

And Castiel suddenly having wings made of flesh and blood and ebony feathers instead of just Grace, didn't exactly help their case...

During the first few days or so, if an occasional lamp, book or bottle ended up on the floor because of an over-enthusiastic wing twitch, nobody was going to hold the angel to it. Well, they _did_, just not out loud. The angel was so tightly wound at the moment that shouting at him could possibly level a motel. Even with that one occasion a bed ended up being a _bit_ overturned, neither of the Winchesters were going to set off that avalanche of frustration.

However, by the time the group had arrived at their ghost hunt in Michigan, Castiel couldn't keep using the "_I'm not used to this"_ card. Because, in short, he was used to them.

The differences in how his grace was now flowing had begun to feel as natural as it would have done if he had chosen to manifest the wings himself. The movements behind them were now smooth and far more controlled. Though they were still better advertisements of his emotions than the rest of him combined. And now that they were more controlled, the angel had taken to experimenting with his Grace again, not to the extent of teleporting just yet, but he was trying to somehow manipulate his invisibility technique to just his wings.

He was definitely more than bored with being trapped in either the Impala or motel rooms. He was an Angel, and they have wings for a reason, they were not designed to be kept _in_ things. Sam had even begun comparing his expression with a feral cat being shoved into a pet carrier for a vet visit whenever they arrived at a new motel or got back in the Impala.

So maybe it was Karma that had Sam being the first of the Winchesters to feel the negative effects of this...innovation, of Castiel's. Dean had still been asleep in the motel room when Sam returned with breakfast, coffee and Dean's Pie. What the younger Winchester was not expecting though, was Castiel to be practising this new technique in the middle of the room. The wings were totally invisible from the human eye, but not from human touch. As Sam found out when he walked straight into the leading edge of the arm of Castiel's left wing, catching him across the collar bone and his own momentum throwing him off his feet, swearing and cursing all the way down to the floor.

Dean naturally shot up shouting from his bed, sleep still blurring his vision, but Hunter's instincts making him reach for the Colt. This naturally had Dean's head finding the other wing and another cursing Winchester began groaning at the angel.

"...Cas, what the hell?" Sam groaned from the floor as the stunned angel's wings fluttered into sight again.

Castiel tilted his head, wings drooping a little as a show of guilt, "My apologies, I forgot that you couldn't see them. Are you alright?"

The younger Winchester groaned again, eyeing the mess that was once contained in his three cups now marring the puke coloured carpet, "My coffee..." was his only answer.

By the end of the next day, they had finally arrived in Michigan, and yet another motel. And after yet another wing-related hit and miss incident with the rickety wooden structure this particular motel passed off as a table, Dean had finally growled out a, "You know Cas, I'm beginning to think angels are clumsy as fuck with physical wings!"

Castiel had shifted a little, wings twitching in what the Winchesters were beginning to understand as guilt and slight unease, "I am not...the most... graceful angel in my Garrison..." The angel seemed to wince a little at the mention of his Garrison and the irritation in Dean fell away a little, "My wings are, timorous in this form."

Dean gave the angel a sour look and damnit all if Sam didn't get that: _Dude, you don't know what that means? _Look on his stupid face.

"Timid, Dean"

"Shut up Bitch!"

"Jerk!"

Castiel seemed only barely more amused than confused.

The angel wasn't truly all that bad, usually the dark wings were folded neatly at his back, only moving if the angel moved suddenly or as a show of strong emotion. And, since this was Castiel, neither of those occurred all that often.

But there were certainly times when the Angel of The Lord has his moments. And never let it be said that allowing the angel to accompany Dean to a small convenience store with wings, hidden by what some may call, an unpracticed technique, was a good idea.

The angel was just grateful to out of the building for longer than the few seconds it took to walk between the Impala and their newest motel room, all the while searching for anyone who may spot the angel's immense wingspan. The new perception filter reflecting the light around his wings to make them seem invisible was working well, though he was grateful that it was dusk in case there was a mishap, the oncoming darkness would aid in camouflaging them should the technique break outside.

Walking beside the Righteous Man down the two or three blocks it took to arrive at the store they had passed on the way into the town, was some of the most peaceful moments of the past few days. Angels were not often prone to stress, the Apocalypse had been a constant source of it sure, but these last two or three days made the Apocalypse seem like a daily 'I misplaced my keys' stress compared to the 'middle-age meltdown' like stress that had been nagging at Castiel.

Dean had been glancing at the angel all the way on the short walk, half expecting the wings to shoot out and smash him in the side as they went along. He certainly wouldn't put it past the famous Winchester luck, but, _damn_ he wasn't going to say anything to Castiel when he had that small, stupid, pathetic smile on his face, growing a little every time the wind blew softly in their direction and ruffled his invisible feathers. The poor creature had been going silently insane in the motels, all the travelling in the Impala not helping.

He wasn't going to hand in his man-card yet though by mentioning that thought out loud.

Dean didn't think it was actually being inside the motel or Impala that was problem, but rather, now that the angel _knew_ he couldn't leave, naturally, all he wanted to do was be outside. It was like telling a child "_no T.V tonight_" before the desire to watch it had passed through the child's mind, now that they couldn't have it, they wanted it even more.

But damnit all if it didn't feel like sitting in front of a ticking time bomb in the Impala at times, those wings were insanely strong, he'd know, he'd been whacked with them enough times. When the angel finally gave in to his frustration, there was no question of "_if?_", Dean was a little terrified of what the consequences to his Baby would be.

It wasn't a thought he was too keen on following.

Shaking it from his mind, he pushed open the door to the pretty empty looking store, 'Let the poor bastard have his ten minutes of freedom, it can't hurt.'

_Ha ha, Winchester, ha ha. _

The place was empty except for them, besides the shrill looking man scrunched up behind the till, reading some crinkled, greasy magazine. The man's peering grey eyes examined them over the top of his magazine closely for a moment as they entered, narrowing minutely at the odd way the taller man held the door open for the other, not letting go until the brunette was at least three feet in the doorway. The clerk, huffing his distaste at knowing in a few moments he would have to pretend to care they existed, turned back to his reading material.

Castiel had been pretty oblivious to the little man's critical staring, but Dean was already acknowledging his instincts that the cashier was one of those funny little squirrel-like people who would take credit for that one, nervously shy, co-worker's hard work then sneer at them as if daring them to say other wise. Other wise known as; a weasel that Dean wouldn't mind punching if an opportunity arose. Maybe it was a little unfair to judge a man's merits by appearances, but Dean had tortured souls in hell, he recognised the signs of a slimy personality, even if this one hadn't actually done anything inherently bad before.

Brushing off the waves of contempt flowing from Slimy's direction, Dean quickly began gathering Sam's rabbit food, and his own perfect dietary choices. Castiel trailing him, not caring for anything in the place, and not looking either. The angel couldn't care less about being here, the fact was that he could walk in and out of this place _freely_ again, nothing was _keeping_ him here now that his wings were finally invisible. It was a glorious change, and he could quite happily trail Dean through shops like this for the next week and still be this content.

A small clanging sound drew Dean's eyes to a trembling beer bottle that had miraculously stayed upright after nearly tipping over as something brushed passed it. Green eyes accusingly sought out ocean blue, and the angel tilted a curious glance in the bottles direction. The hunter noticed the angel's shoulders shift, and Dean shrugged it off, now that the angel had had one close call, he gathered he would be more careful.

_Slow learner, Winchester._

To be fair to the angel, it was only _one_ thing that he knocked off a shelf, Dean was the one who took out the two shelving units. That didn't make it any less his fault though.

Dean had been reaching for his second pie, the food being comfort for the unbearable stress that had been hovering over them for the past few days. When a solid, undeniably wooden, clank came from behind him. Dean turned, taking a step at the same time, "C'mon Cas, careful ma-" His foot landed on something that rolled under his weight, and the Hunter had just enough time to catch the angel's gaze tilt curiously at him, before he fell.

The object under his foot rolled as smoothly as a ball, and Dean had no chance to recover, his back collided with the shelving unit behind him. The cheap construction wavered, all manor of items clattering noisily to the floor, mixing with the angered shriek of the cashier, before the thing gave completely.

The Hunter gave a very manly squeak as the half-second stability that had come from falling onto the thing, began to falter and fall backwards again. The noisy clatter turned into an out right cacophony of noise as the shelving unit landed heavily on it's nearest sibling, causing that one to fall as well.

In less than ten seconds, the shop went from quiet to disaster zone, all manner of day to day objects smeared all over the place, the clerk roaring with hatred. Dean shot the angel a betrayed look as Castiel looked somewhat confused over the ruckus in that infuriatingly _Cas-like_ way, before Dean made an executive decision.

Leaping to his feet, Dean booked it past him "Cas! Out! Now!"

Castiel gave his friend a questioning look as the man disappeared from the store, before it occurred to him that he should probably be following him. Stooping to pick something up, the angel fled the scene too. Though for some reason, he didn't feel all that bad for the rather suspicious looking gentleman apparently running the store.

The pair ran all the way back to the Impala outside their motel room, Dean panting breathlessly and Castiel absolutely fine. By the time they stopped, Dean was alternating between growling murderously and chuckling huffily. In the end, he leaned back against the Impala, still struggling to regain his breath and shot Castiel a look that clearly said _What the fuck man?_. Of course, being Castiel, he missed it entirely.

"Dude! What did you do?!"

The angel again tilted his head, wings twitching under their invisible shielding, "I believe one of my feathers caught what I believe was a 'Rolling Pin'."

Dean's eyes widened slightly, "A-A Rolling Pin! Dude, now we have to go find another place! And my pie was left behind! What the hell does a convenience store sell _rolling pins_ for!"

A nervous shadow of a smile ghosted Castiel's lips as he pulled the box from where his arm was holding it just out of Dean's sight behind his back, "...Pie?" he offered quietly, he could tell Dean was more amused than annoyed, but the way to this man's heart was _definitely_ through his stomach, or so Sam had told him.

Eyes widening at the sight, Dean began laughing too hard that he couldn't even take it, though he did manage to gasp out, "Damn Cas! I'll repeat, D-Don't-ever-change!"

–

**AN - **Cas honey, you can't just wreck a man's shop then steal the man's pie.

Does anyone else have any wing!related fiascoes they'd like to see?


End file.
